


Untitled Crossover Fanfic

by 100indecisions



Series: Video game fanworks [1]
Category: Avengers Academy (Video Game), Untitled Goose Game (Video Game)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Swearing, but no one can convince me these characters wouldn't talk like this, so this is canon-atypical swearing, which I wouldn't note except neither canon actually has swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100indecisions/pseuds/100indecisions
Summary: It’s a lovely day at Avengers Academy, and you are a horrible goose.
Relationships: Goose/being horrible, Loki & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Series: Video game fanworks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/290843
Comments: 28
Kudos: 105
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Untitled Crossover Fanfic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I actually haven't played the goose game yet, but when I matched with your Avengers Academy request and then saw your Untitled Goose Game request with the suggestion of making it a crossover with your other fandoms, I decided this was too fun of an idea to waste. (Writing this also made me miss Avengers Academy all over again, and to be honest I was baffled when I realized it only shut down in February. Just another sign of how _incredibly long_ this year has been, I guess!)

_It’s a lovely day at Avengers Academy, and you are not a horrible god of mischief (although one might be forgiven for assuming so). You are, in fact, a perfectly ordinary horrible goose—at least to the extent that anything or anyone at Avengers Academy is ordinary, which is to say not very. If nothing else, the extent of your horribleness renders you somewhat extraordinary. As always, you are here to do what you do best: create problems on purpose and generally ruin everyone’s day._

* * *

Amora is the first to notice the newest visitor, mostly by accident. She is sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room in Maverick Dorm, painstakingly tracing sigils onto the floor with a thin paintbrush. Done correctly—and of course she is doing it correctly—the complete circle should strengthen her wards so much that no one, regardless of their magical or technical ability, will be able to enter her room uninvited. She does most of her potion-making in Pym’s lab, but she stores her books and finished potions here, along with a number of forbidden ingredients, and the last thing she needs is someone like Hill or Wilson stumbling in and carrying tales to Fury.

Just a few more strokes and the circle will be finished, and then the magic will take hold and etch itself permanently but invisibly into the entire structure of her room. She twists her brush just so—

_HONK._

Amora jumps (with a startled shriek she would deny to her dying breath, or at least the dying breath of anyone who witnessed it), droplets of the potion scattering everywhere. An unremarkable white goose flaps up to her, still honking. Her door is closed and locked, so in theory nothing of this size should have been able to get in. Of course, something that can change its size—

“Loki,” she says, with a glare so poisonous that by rights he should drop dead on the spot, “get out of my room or I will paralyze you, pluck every feather from your body one by one, and use them to power a curse that will make you vomit blood every time you open your mouth to speak for _at least_ the next month.”

The goose lowers its head, beady eyes fixed on her, and honks even louder.

“Fine. You certainly can’t say I failed to warn you.” She is not absolutely certain she can carry out every part of her threat, but the first two parts should be easy, and Loki deserves it just for existing near her.

Amora draws up a palmful of glowing green magic and flings it at the goose. He is only a few paces away, and her aim is perfect. The bolt strikes true—and immediately slides off, like water off the back of its smaller cousin. The goose tilts its head and gives her a distinctly reproachful look, while she stares back at it in consternation.

So…not Loki, then. He’s proven himself unaffected by her seductions, but she knows from painful experience (painful for him, not for her) that her other forms of magic work on him just fine. This is just…a goose, except it also seems unbothered by her magic.

The goose, taking advantage of her puzzlement, darts past her toward her desk. Amora starts to lunge after it and freezes. She can’t easily move without ruining her work, with potentially disastrous results. “Get back here!” she snaps, throwing another spell. Both actions have roughly the same effect (that is, none at all).

The goose’s answering honk has a definite mocking edge. With a great flap of its wings, it scrambles up on her desk, right on top of some priceless ancient texts, her notes for a new potion, all the ingredients for the mixture drawn on her floor, and the circlet she removed for safekeeping.

The goose studies all of it for a few seconds and then snatches up her circlet and flings it out the window. Amora’s control breaks and she lunges after it, leaping over her circle without smudging anything. The goose scrambles away from her, squawking—and knocks over her candle into the most flammable of her potion ingredients, sending a small fireball halfway to the ceiling.

Putting out fires is simple enough, even when magic is involved in setting them. Unfortunately, Amora never gets the chance: the fire-alarm system instantly goes off and so do the sprinklers, drenching everything in her room and smearing all the sigils on her floor beyond recognition. The little fire goes out with a hiss. The sprinklers, naturally, keep going for several more seconds, leaving Amora soaked and almost too shocked to react.

The goose shakes itself, flinging more water in Amora’s face, and flies out the window—which is when Amora feels the circle’s altered magic take hold, sealing her door with something that bears a strong resemblance to pond scum. It will take hours to undo the spellwork.

Growling to herself, Amora climbs out the window.

* * *

Tony, on the other hand, doesn’t notice the goose on his own at all, because his lab speakers are blaring AC/DC too loud for anyone but him to think and he’s deep in the zone upgrading his suit. He does notice when his music cuts out, and then he looks up, blinking. “J, buddy, you better have a real good reason for throwing off my groove.”

“I didn’t turn off your music,” JARVIS says, “because you locked me out last time I turned it off to suggest that two hours of sleep in a 36-hour period was perhaps insufficient. In this case, I would also like to suggest you revisit your definition of an emergency significant enough for me to override your programming, because—”

The workshop goes dark, JARVIS falling silent with it. Red emergency lights blink on, but they do more to make the place spooky than to provide actual light.

“Aw, c’mon,” Tony says, “what kind of horror-movie bullshit…”

 _HONK_.

He jumps, staring around wildly for the source of the noise. It sounds like—

A goose is perched on his cheese fridge, staring at him, one webbed foot on his first arc-reactor prototype. As Tony watches, baffled, it wedges the arc reactor into its beak, dives into the nearest open ventilation shaft (which isn’t supposed to be open in the first place), and disappears.

Tony starts to go after it, has a sudden awful thought, and doubles back to check his cheese fridge. It’s completely empty, even the super-processed cheap stuff he keeps in a semi-hidden little compartment behind the crisper because he doesn’t want anyone to know about it.

“JARVIS?” he says. “What the hell just happened?”

“To be perfectly honest, sir, I have no idea.”

* * *

“So,” Loki says, arms crossed, staring down the goose standing on the computer desk. More books than usual are flapping around the Timeless Archives under their own power, and he would never admit it in a million years but he has no idea how that happened. “I hear you’ve been making some mischief. Pissing off the Enchantress, even, which is always a positive as far as I’m concerned.”

The goose tilts its head and stares back at him.

“I prefer to be the one _causing_ chaos, of course, but I can appreciate a fellow mischief-maker, within reason.” He isn’t sure how he feels about people thinking the goose was a new shapeshift of his, but that’s beside the point. “However: I will not have a new feathery trickster supplant me, and I see but one way to settle the matter.” He narrows his eyes and points his staff for emphasis. “You. Me. Dance-off. _Now_.”

The goose follows him agreeably enough to Club A, which Loki also refuses to admit is surprising. It hops up on the pool table and resumes staring at him.

“Fine,” Loki says, “I’ll be generous, you may begin by watching me,” and he gets down. His typical style is subtle perfection, of course, but he throws in some extra flourishes this time, twirling his staff and scattering green magelights across the dance floor to flash along with the beat. With any luck he’ll intimidate the beast into conceding without even trying.

He executes a perfect half-spin and snaps to a stop on his heel, facing the pool table again—but the goose is no longer there, and several of the billiard balls seem to be missing as well. That is…potentially concerning.

 _HONK_.

Loki whirls. The goose is perched on the bar now, next to a plastic keg of soda. The robot bartender, of course, is nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Loki starts forward, and the goose pushes the keg toward the edge of the bar.

“Oh,” Loki says. “No, don’t you dare—”

With an almighty flapping shove, the goose sends the keg toppling over the edge. It hits the floor at just the right angle to knock the lid off, releasing a wave of cloyingly sweet soda all over the dance floor and splashing up past Loki’s knees. He stumbles back, sputtering outrage—and almost before he realizes it’s happening, his foot goes out from under him and he lands on his backside with another splash.

Loki sits up, furiously wiping soda from his face, and sees two things: the first is the billiard ball he stepped on rolling to a stop against the bar, and the second is the goose’s tail feathers as it takes off running, Loki’s staff clamped in its beak.

He would never admit this either, but he’s not sure whether he’s more disgusted or impressed. At the moment, with cold soda dripping from his hair and sliding down his back, he’s mostly leaning towards disgust.

* * *

Fury is, as usual, doing highly classified things. By definition anything he does is highly classified unless he says otherwise, which means that yes, taking a power nap on the couch in his secure underground suite while his coffee brews completely counts. (And honestly, anyone who wants to judge him should try running this place for a day. Hell, an hour would probably be too much for most people.)

The smell of burnt coffee wakes him, and he swears, grabbing his eye patch off the side table—or rather, he tries to grab his eye patch, and what his hand lands on instead is a piece of cold, greasy pizza.

Well, now he’s awake, not to mention pissed. There’s pizza on the floor too, and on his desk, and upside-down on his keyboard. Whichever kid is responsible for this is going to be scrubbing the Hulk’s toilet for a year.

Fury picks up the pizza slice that is supposed to be his eye patch in the hope that it’s just sitting underneath, which it isn’t. He gets to his feet, scowling, and steps around more pizza to turn off his coffee maker.

_HONK._

Outwardly, Fury does not jump. (Inwardly is…classified.) He turns and stares at the nondescript white goose that is somehow in his office, underground, through multiple layers of security, even though that’s thoroughly impossible. His eye patch dangles from the goose’s beak.

“That’s mine,” Fury says, and then, “How the fuck did you—Romanoff’s been trying for two years and she hasn’t cracked this place, how did _you_ —”

 _HMNK_ , the goose says, slightly muffled by the eye patch in its beak. It walks very deliberately across a pile of papers, leaving pizza-grease tracks behind.

Fury makes a dive for the goose, who takes off for the elevator a lot faster than he expected a goose to be able to run. He swears again and pursues—only to find the hallway empty, the goose having apparently fucking disappeared in the half second it was out of Fury’s sightline.

He storms back to the bank of security-camera screens in his office to hunt for the damn thing, and stops. Blinks. Onscreen, Stark Tower is on slightly more fire than usual, with Potts and JARVIS both working to put it out. The hot tub at the top seems to be full of more pizza. Club A is flooded with soda, and America’s shark has somehow found itself in the wave pool at the beach. Pym’s lab is flooded with…something, possibly coffee. The Collector is trapped inside one of his own cages, banging on the walls, with Baby Cthulhu sitting outside and watching him curiously. Spiderwebs are everywhere they shouldn’t be, as if several spider-kids tried repeatedly to web up a goose and failed spectacularly. The Hulk is wandering around the quad, somehow more naked than it seems possible for a being of his size to be.

Fury stares for a few long seconds, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eye shut as if he can make this whole situation—and the oncoming migraine—just go away. He opens his eye again and it’s still there, except now the goose is running around the park with Satana’s pitchfork in its beak, lighting things on fire, while Misty Knight tries and fails to catch it with ice.

Honestly, it’s not that much worse than what these terrors put him through on a regular basis, and maybe dealing with a bizarre clusterfuck on their own will teach them a little responsibility (although he makes a mental note to convince Potts she finally needs to take a few days off once…whatever this is…is over). As for Fury himself, he has spare eye patches, and it’s not like anyone else will know he just didn’t want to deal with it.

He rechecks the status of the intrusion alarms on the _really_ secret vaults, just in case, and then he goes back to his couch, opens an empty (and not pizza-stained) folder over his face, and goes back to sleep.

* * *

Steve enjoys training with just about everyone—it’s kind of his thing, and all of his fellow students have unique fighting styles, with every sparring match forcing him to adjust his own moves as he works to refine their techniques. Natasha is easily one of his favorite sparring partners, though; she’s endlessly adaptable, always keeping him on his toes, and every time he thinks he’s learned all her moves, she still manages to surprise him. She’s not quite as passionate about training as Steve is, but that’s a ridiculously high bar to begin with, and she’s always up for a fight even when nobody else is. She also likes having an audience about as little as he does, so they end up in the gym at SHIELD HQ more often than not, leaving the Robo Dojo, Asgardian Gauntlet, and Arena of War for the others.

As they leave the building after a good workout, Steve finds himself questioning the wisdom of that choice for the first time, because if he’d been outside for the past hour maybe he would know what the hell is going on. The campus looks like some kind of storm swept through while they were inside. Several of their fellow students are sitting in the quad, all showing various levels of defeat and dishevelment. In the middle of their loose ring is massive pile of stuff with a white goose sitting on top of it and practically radiating self-satisfaction.

“Okay,” Steve says, blinking. “What?”

“I suppose deciding we saw nothing and going back inside wouldn’t be very responsible,” Natasha says after a moment.

Steve sighs. “No, and I won’t tell anyone we considered it if you don’t.”

The closer they get, the more bedraggled the other students look. Tony is singed; Loki and Amora are both soaked and scowling. Sam is lying on his back, one arm flopped over his eyes. Scott Lang is sitting behind him, looking spooked. Gamora and Nebula, both missing their usual weapons, are sharpening knives and occasionally sending the goose threatening glares that it roundly ignores. Peter Parker seems to have webbed his own feet to the ground, somehow, and he’s picking forlornly at the sticky threads. As for the giant pile of stuff—

“Is that my stun baton?” Natasha asks, looking more impressed than irritated.

“Both of your stun batons,” Loki corrects, “and an equivalent trophy of some sort from at least half the entire academy. I wouldn’t take my eye off that shield if you hope to keep it, Captain.”

The goose is, in fact, staring at Steve’s shield with an uncomfortably avaricious gleam in its eyes, and he fights the urge to check that it’s still there when of course he can feel it on his back. The rest of the pile is plenty impressive even without his shield, too. Web shooters, a StarkPad, Sam’s jetpack, J. Jonah Jameson’s favorite coffee mug, Ultron parts, dismantled Octobots, a dragon skull bigger than the goose, Peter Quill’s helmet and Walkman, one of Loki’s sets of horns, Loki’s staff, a quiver of Clint’s arrows, an autograph book that probably belongs to Kamala, a couple textbooks, Stephen Strange’s cloak, several pairs of Hulk shorts, at least five boxes of pizza…

“I’ll be honest,” he says, “I’m a little afraid to ask.”

“You should be,” Loki says darkly. “I’m sure this wretched creature would love to make your life miserable too.”

“It can’t add misery if you’re already lost in the dark, only chaos,” Bucky says. His eyeshadow is smudged, and all his hair is sticking straight out, as if something unfortunate happened to his styling products.

“Shut up or I’ll help it get your arm,” Loki snaps.

“Okay,” Natasha says, “fill us in. What happened?”

Sam lifts his other arm and points toward the goose. “He happened.”

Steve looks at them, glances around campus, looks at the goose. “One goose did…all this.”

“Listen, man, you haven’t seen this thing in action. He’s—”

“Devious,” Loki says. “Insidious.”

“Favors attacks of opportunity,” Kamala says, “and basically he keeps critting on everybody whenever he does anything.”

Sam shrugs. “I was gonna says _nuts_ , but sure.”

Steve, if anything, feels even more lost. “So…is it a magic goose? Maybe a shapeshifter? Or an AIM experiment or something? Did you scan it for unfamiliar tech?”

“It is not a _magic goose_ ,” Loki says, almost sneering, at the same time as Tony says, “Of course we scanned it for weird tech, not all of us are total amateurs.”

“None of the above, far as we can tell,” Sam says. “It’s just…I dunno, smart and persistent.”

“It’s horrible and it hates us,” Nebula mutters.

“And you just, what, let a normal goose take all this stuff?”

Sam moves his arm off his eyes, finally, and glares half-heartedly at Steve. “We didn’t _let_ it do anything. It’s just been… _doing stuff_. I think it only stopped because it got happy with its collection.”

“But if you’d like to fight it, please do,” Loki says. “I could certainly use a laugh.”

“A normal goose,” Natasha repeats. “Did all this, and none of you could stop it or catch it?”

“It’s not _normal_ ,” Kamala insists. “It’s not magic or enhanced, but it’s not _normal_.”

“Extremely not normal,” Scott says. “Although to be fair I suppose most birds would try to eat me when I’m ant-sized.”

“Why can’t you just…ask Redwing to tell it to leave?” Steve says. “For that matter, Sam, you talk to other birds, right? Why can’t _you_ tell it to leave?”

“Because it’s not that simple,” Sam says. “I can talk to birds, yeah. Doesn’t mean I can talk to _all_ of them, especially if they don’t want to talk to me, which this dude very much does not. I mean, he can probably understand me, he just doesn’t care.”

“What about Howard?” Natasha says, and then glances almost apologetically in Tony’s direction. “Howard the Duck, not Howard Stark. Can’t he talk to other birds?”

Peter Quill snorts, looking morosely at his half-buried Walkman. “He _can_. I asked if he would and he gave me this _look_ and told me to fuck off. So, like usual for Howard, but also I think he really doesn’t like geese.”

Tony glances up. “Isn’t he literally on another planet right now?”

“Well, yeah, but still.”

“Wait, hang on,” Steve says, frowning at the pile. “Is that _Mjolnir_?”

Loki crosses his arms, scowl deepening. “Apparently _beasts_ are worthy now.”

Well, that explains Loki’s extra-sour mood. Aside from the goose somehow getting him wet and stealing his stuff, Loki hates it every time when anyone new joins the list of people who can lift Thor’s hammer.

“Or,” Natasha says, “most animals are basically amoral and your dad has weird ideas of worthiness anyway.”

Just for a second, Loki’s expression is open and startled, vulnerable even, and then he leans back with a smirk that looks practiced. “Well, that goes without saying.”

“Does Thor _know_ his hammer is missing?” Steve asks, deciding the rest isn’t his business (although Loki’s surprise that anyone would support him is more than enough to give Steve a pang of sympathy, as well as little more understanding of Natasha’s friendship with him).

“Oh, he knows,” Loki says. “He went to Asgard to get Father’s help. Seeing him struggle to get Mjolnir back from a bird was amusing, I’ll admit. Shame you missed it.”

“Huh,” Steve says, eying the goose speculatively. “So this goose loves stealing things and making a mess, and he apparently can’t be caught or otherwise stopped by magical or technological means, but he’s also not actively evil because then he wouldn’t be able to lift Mjolnir. Nat, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Her eyebrows go up, and then she starts to smile. “You know, I’m pretty sure I am.”

Steve crouches a respectful distance in front of the goose, keeping one hand on his shield just in case. “Hi there,” he says. “That’s a pretty impressive collection.”

_HONK._

“You won’t get anywhere by patronizing him,” Loki says, patronizingly.

Steve ignores him. “How about making a mess for a really good cause? We’ll even get you inside. All you have to do is…be yourself, I guess. And give us our stuff back, but I guarantee you can get even better trophies if you hit the place I have in mind.” The goose tilts its head, looking interested but not convinced, and Steve adds, “Tony can patch you into their comms system so you can scream in all their ears at the same time.”

“Hell yeah I can,” Tony says. “Whose day are we ruining, again?”

Steve grins.

* * *

_It’s a lovely day at the largest remaining Hydra stronghold on the Eastern seaboard, and you are a horrible goose. You are still perfectly ordinary, except for the many ways in which you are not ordinary at all. This list now includes a faint shimmer of green across your feathers, the only visible evidence of a protective spell from the trickster (who grumbled to a degree that was almost impressive even as he did it anyway). You won’t need it, but it’s never a bad idea to have backup as, once again, you begin to do what you do best. After all, it’s always a perfect time to ruin everyone’s day._


End file.
